


The Rumour-Filled, Totally False Account of How Margaery Tyrell Lost Her Virginity and Ruined Her Flawless Reputation.

by gallantrejoinder



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: (It's fairly minor but present since Marg is closeted and bearding for Renly), (at all), (not sorry), Alternate Universe - Easy A, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Renly/Loras - Freeform, Background Sam/Jon, Bisexuality, Easy A References, F/F, Femslash, Fluff and Angst, Humour, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, No one is ASOIAF is straight, POV Character of Color, Pining, Sorry GRRM, Willas is a sci fi nerd and I'll fight you about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-14 23:52:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9210716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallantrejoinder/pseuds/gallantrejoinder
Summary: Easy A AU. Margaery Tyrell does her brother's boyfriend a favour by pretending to sleep with him to ward off the homophobes, at least until he graduates. What could possibly go wrong?Unfortunately, rumours of Margaery's promiscuity quickly grow, and become greatly exaggerated - especially since she's never slept with anybody, and has in fact been pining after one particular girl for the past three years ...





	1. A Lady's Choice and a Gentleman's Agreement.

~

 

_“Is this thing on? Yes? Fantastic. Okay._

_You’re all here because you want a show, being aware of the rumours of my promiscuity. Well, you’re going to get one, believe me. Because I have quite a bit to say, King’s Landing High, and you’re definitely going to want to hear it. So here it is._

_This is the story of how, over the course of the last three months, I became the school slut, and how almost every single thing you’ve heard about me is absolutely and unequivocally false._

_Enjoy it, folks. It doesn’t get more scandalous than this.”_

 

~

 

It all begins because Margaery is far too nice.

Well, she’s not nice to everyone. She can be a bit of a bitch when she wants to be, even if she puts on a kind face publicly. But she’s always been nice to her brothers, even though they’re all older than her and by rights she should be the pampered baby of the family.

She’s attempting, with some difficulty, to get through her chemistry homework when Loras walks through her bedroom door and flops down onto her bed with a groan. Margaery barely glances up.

“Why hello, there, Loras. Why don’t you come in? No, no, I insist. Have a seat on the bed. You look upset, dear brother, is something the matter? Do tell Margaery all about it,” she says facetiously.

“Shut up,” Loras responds, his voice muffled by a pillow.

“That does sound terrible. I’m so glad you opened up to me about it,” Margaery responds, before chewing her lip as she contemplates a particularly mind-numbing question regarding … well, something about neutrons, from what she can make out.

Loras rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling. “Marg, do you ever … Do you ever just wish you could burn our school to the ground?”

That gets Margaery’s attention. She sets her pencil down and carefully regards Loras. “I mean, yes. Of course. Every student does, and some of the teachers too, I suspect. But am I to regard this as a general statement or a plan, because let me tell you, Grandma will kill you if you turn into a school shooter.”

“I’m not going burn down the school. Or shoot it up,” Loras says, rolling his eyes.

“Glad to hear it,” Margaery says, before sighing and giving up on her chemistry homework. “All right, I’ll bite. What’s happening? Why all the ‘woe is me?’” She flops down on the bed next to him.

“I’m gay,” Loras says mournfully.

“Well aware of that, thank you,” Margaery says. Definitely aware of that, since Loras didn’t lock his door all those months ago when Renly came over to do “homework.”

“No, I mean, I’m … gay. In high school. For the rest of this whole year,” Loras groans.

“And this is news to you?” Margaery asks, furrowing her brow. At least he only has one year to go. Margaery’s got a whole two more.

“No, it’s just … Seven above, I can’t stand the idea of being in the closet for a whole ’nother year. If it was just me … But sneaking around with Renly is bloody awful, to be honest. Like the whole school’s going to go into meltdown mode if I just hold his stupid hand.”

“Yeah,” Margaery says quietly. She can’t help but feel a little guilty. Loras thinks he’s alone in this, but he still doesn’t know that Margaery herself is bisexual. She just … doesn’t know how to tell him, yet.

“Yeah. Sorry,” Loras says, turning over to face her. “Nothing new to report. I’m just tired of it already, and it’s only the beginning of the semester.”

“It’s all right, big brother,” Margaery sighs. “I get it.” _More than you know_.

“Thanks.”

They lie in silence for a few more moments before Loras offers to help her with her chemistry homework, having taken the same class with that horrible Mr. Qyburn the years before. She jumps at the chance and doesn’t think about their earlier conversation again.

 

~

 

English class the next day is awful. Not because they’re studying The Scarlet Letter, which is an incredible text in Margaery’s opinion, or because the class is being run by Mr. Pycelle, who hasn’t quite learned how to control the class. No, class is awful because Sansa Stark is in it.

Not that Margaery dislikes Sansa. Unfortunately the opposite. She’s had a crush on Sansa since seventh grade. A crush that unfortunately has only grown over time, especially since the fateful birthday party of Arianne Martell they had both attended in eighth grade.

As she sits in class, directly behind Sansa, Margaery can’t help but stare at the back of her head and think wistfully about it as Mr. Pycelle drones on and on about the symbolism of The Scarlet Letter and the history of the crime of adultery. Apparently Margaery is still mentally a love struck fourteen-year-old, because she can remember that night with crystal clarity.

There had been a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven, and by chance, the bottle had landed on Margaery and then Sansa. Being the eighth grade, of course, same gender pairings weren’t supposed to happen. But Joffrey Baratheon had cheered them on and talked about how hot it would be if two girls made out, so into Arianne’s bedroom they’d been sent. Margaery had been blushing furiously, though her dark skin didn’t show it – but Sansa’s pale skin was very obviously beet red when they sat down on the bed and face each other.

“Don’t worry, we’ve still got ages,” Margaery had blurted out, after a few minutes of awkward silence.

“Okay,” Sansa had said, in a high voice. “Right.”

“It’s really annoying how they made us do it but not Sam and Jon, right? I mean the bottle landed on them too. But it’s not … uh, hot, when boys do it.”

Sansa had looked a little green, so Margaery scrambled to make up for it. “I mean – Jon’s like, almost your brother, so I guess you wouldn’t think that anyway. And not that I think you’re hot, I’m not a lesbian or anything.”

Margaery remembers cringing internally at that. Still technically true, but … At that age, working through her internalised homophobia was a very confusing mess of urges and counter-urges.

“Oh,” Sansa had said, looking tenser than before.

“I – no, I’m not homophobic or anything. I just – if you don’t … want to do anything, obviously, we don’t have to,” Margaery had continued, even as her brain screamed at her to take her one chance at kissing Sansa Stark. Of course, she hadn’t really realised that that was why her stomach was sinking with disappointment at the time.

“Really?” Sansa had said, and Margaery had detected a hint of relief in her voice.

“Really,” she had confirmed. “We can say we did if you want, but …”

“No, no. Let’s just … not say anything. It’s no one else’s business, right?” Sansa had said, leaning forward anxiously.

“Right! Yeah. Definitely,” Margaery had laughed.

The two of them had sat on the bed for the remaining minutes in a silence that was a little awkward, but still much more comfortable than before. It was only when the door opened and they walked out that Margaery was able to identify the strange emotion she was feeling as disappointment.

It figures that Margaery would figure out her sexuality only after she missed out on a chance to kiss a pretty girl.

And now she’s going to see that pretty girl every day, and stare at the back of her head, pining quietly like – like – Samwell Tarly, always mooning after Jon. They should form a club, the two of them. “Obviously Pining After Stark Family Members: By Invitation Only.”

At that moment, Sansa suddenly turns and catches Margaery staring. Margaery, for her part, blinks and looks wildly over the other side of the room, pretending not to have been. Her heart beats a little faster at the sight of Sansa’s icy-blue eyes on her, Sansa’s red hair slipping down over her shoulders.

“Here,” Sansa says, and Margaery looks back to see that Sansa is only passing back a sheet of paper with a series of questions on it. She hastily reaches out for it.

“It’s only homework,” Sansa says, with a smile.

“Of course, yeah,” Margaery says with a self-deprecating laugh, and winces internally. Why does the famous Tyrell charm always evaporate whenever she’s around the one person she’d like to use it on?

The rest of the lesson passes uneventfully, and Sansa doesn’t speak to her again.

 

~

 

Margaery comes home a couple of days later just about ready to tell Loras that she’s bisexual for one reason only: she desperately needs someone to confide in about the fact that she can’t stop thinking about Sansa Stark. Unfortunately, when she throws open the door to Loras’ room, it already has a guest.

Renly is sitting on Loras’ bed, in his arms, and he’s crying.

“Is that – holy shit, Renly, is that blood?” Margaery gasps as she moves forward to sit on Renly’s other side, tipping his head up to look better at the blood seeping down from a nasty cut on his cheek.

“Yeah,” Renly says, in a watery voice. He doesn’t seem capable of saying much more.

“Some – some homophobic dickheads beat him up,” Loras says, in a tone of barely restrained fury.

“I thought you guys weren’t out yet,” Margaery says, confused, beginning to rub Renly’s back while he leans his head against Loras.

“We’re not,” Renly sighs against Loras’ shoulder. “But they know. They know I’m gay.”

Margaery’s blood runs cold. It’s her worst nightmare come true. She’s always conscious of how she appears to others, how best to get them on her side – Grandma had taught her that much. Which makes her efforts to hide her attraction to women all the more desperate. She’s always afraid that someone will know, just by looking at her, what she really is.

“Oh,” she says quietly, unable to think up a better response.

Renly sits up suddenly, looking angry now. “It’s – it’s just bullshit. They look at me and they think they know, just because I’m … I don’t know. Fucking limp-wristed, or something.”

“Don’t say that,” Margaery says, while Loras makes a protesting noise.

“Nah, it’s true. I’m going to be stuck dealing with this shit for the rest of the year. Probably longer, honestly. I just wish … If I could just hold off for another year …” Renly doesn’t finish the sentence.

But that’s when Margaery gets a stupid idea.

“What if – I mean, what if we pretended to be together?”

“… Marg, _what_.” Loras’ voice sounds flat and unimpressed.

“Like, I bearded for you? Or something?” Margaery says, shrugging nonchalantly despite the uncertainty taking hold of her brain.

“No, I wouldn’t want to – I mean, being with Loras is hard enough to hide, I would never want to pretend to be with someone else long-term,” Renly says, frowning and sniffling.

“It wouldn’t have to be long-term! Like, we could just … I don’t know. Like, if we showed up at a party and pretended to have sex in another room or something. And then if anyone asks just say it was a one night stand. Your reputation is safe and you can continue boning my brother in private!”

“Ew, Margaery!” Loras cries, but Renly looks thoughtful.

He sniffs a couple more times, before turning his face to Margaery with an interested expression on his face. “You know … that could actually work.”

“You’re welcome,” Margaery says primly, despite the fact that there’s an unpleasant sensation in his stomach that reminds her a little too much of fear.

“How would you even – when would you even have an opportunity to do it?” Loras asks, looking unconvinced.

“Cousin Elinor, dear brother.”

Comprehension dawns on Loras’ face. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding.”

“Who’s cousin Elinor?” Renly asks, looking confused.

“Cousin Elinor, on our father’s side. Well, more like second- or third-cousin, really, but that’s unimportant. What’s important is that Elinor gets to throw a party at hers unsupervised every time she catches her parents having sex in the pool. Which must have happened recently, because she invited me on Facebook to a party Friday this weekend. All Renly and I need to do is show up, lock a bedroom door behind us, make a lot of noise, and leave,” Margaery explains.

Renly nods along, looking more confident as she explains. He turns to Loras. “This could really work, Loras. You know my brothers are like, twenty years older than me, there’s no way I’m going to get to throw a party with them around. They’re practically ancient, and way too responsible. Well. Stannis is, anyway. Marg and I should just go to your cousin’s and let the rumours do the rest.”

Loras chews on his lip, looking concerned. But eventually his shoulders slump. “All right. As long as it’s just one time. I don’t … I don’t ever want to see you like this again, Ren,” he says, lifting a hand to stroke Renly’s cheek.

“And I’ll take that as my cue,” Margaery says, jumping off the bed. “I’ll text you more details about that party, okay Renly?”

“Sure,” Renly replies, not looking away from Loras. Margaery rolls her eyes and makes her exit.

 

~

 

Over the next few days, Margaery texts the details of Elinor’s party that weekend to Renly. They agree to meet at her place first, then arrive together, pretending to be tipsy for good measure. They’ll find themselves a room – Elinor will probably volunteer one, knowing her penchant for drama – and make a lot of noise together once they’re sure a lot of people are waiting outside. And then she’ll send Renly out to act the part of a laid bro, and all will be well.

Actually, things go _shockingly_ well, considering the looseness of the plan.

Renly’s got his arm around her and is stumbling a little when they enter the party in full swing. Margaery is giggling loudly and occasionally leaning over to whisper absolute nonsense in Renly’s ear that makes him snort, too. All eyes are most certainly on them when Margaery finally spots Elinor and lets out a piecing shriek of delight. Renly winces at the pitch.

“ELINOOOOOOR! Oh my GOD, it has been SOOOO LONG!” Margaery shouts across the room, dragging Renly forward to wrap her arms around her alarmed cousin.

“Wow, uh. Hi Margaery,” Elinor says, looking a little flustered. “You – had a bit of a predrinks, hey?”

Margaery giggles effusively. “Oh, wow. You totally caught me. Me and Renly here …” She pauses to giggle a little more. “Well, we were wondering if uh … there was somewhere we could go? Like, _together_? If you get me?”

Elinor’s eyes widen, and Margaery can see the hunger for drama and attention rising in Elinor’s mind. Typical.

“Oh, um! Yes, definitely! I guess – my room has a lock on it? Just down the hall, there,” Elinor says, gesturing towards a hallway full of drunken teenagers. _Excellent. Plenty of witnesses_.

“Thank yoooooooou!” Margaery says, before yanking on Renly’s arm to drag him down the hallway.

She leans in close again as they enter the short hallway to Elinor’s room. “Hey. Smack me.”

Renly’s loose-limbed walk stutters a little. “Wh-what?” he hisses.

“On my behind, Renly, for pity’s sake,” Margaery whispers back through teeth clenched in a grin.

“Oh!” Renly reaches back and gives a slightly pitiful smack, but it’ll do. It draws the attention of several of their drunken peers, and that’s all Margaery needs before she swings Renly into Elinor’s bedroom and locks the door behind them, ceasing to giggle the second the door closes.

“Right. I’ll check the lock,” Margaery says, business-like. Leaning down, she peers at the lock carefully before clicking it shut, but it’s not the sort to have a keyhole to look through. _Good_.

She turns back to Renly, who’s standing in the middle of the room, looking nervous. Margaery laughs at the sight.

“You know I’m not _actually_ going to have sex with my brother’s boyfriend, right?” she says, shaking her head.

“I know that,” Renly says defensively. “I just … hadn’t thought this far ahead.”

“Well, don’t worry, how hard can it be?” Margaery says, shrugging with bravado. “Let’s … look, let’s hop up on the bed and jump around for a bit.”

“Okay,” Renly says, with raised eyebrows.

Elinor’s bed is wide and soft, but more importantly, it is incredibly squeaky. It only takes a few minutes of jumping up and down on the bed before they find a rhythm, giggling for real this time, like children. Margaery decides to let out a ridiculous moan, and Renly’s face contorts as he fights to keep from laughing too loudly.

“Oh, come on, that was hot,” Margaery says through her panting as they continue to bounce.

“I wouldn’t know,” Renly says, spreading his hands in a smug gesture that clearly says, _homosexual, remember?_

“Oh, ha-ha.” Margaery rolls her eyes. She lets out a couple more moans for good measure. “Ooooh, _yeaaaaaaah_! Oh, _Renly_!” she shouts.

Renly finds the whole thing hilarious. Margaery punches him in the arm.

“Ouch!”

“Not the reaction I was hoping for. You’ve gotta make some noise too, idiot,” Margaery says. Renly looks like a deer in headlights. Margaery sighs and takes pity on him.

“Okay, sure, maybe you’re the quiet sort. Whatever. Let’s finish it – grand finale.”

“What?”

Margaery punches him in his groin. He lets out a long groan of pain, but it definitely won’t sound like that to anyone waiting outside. And that’s exactly what she’s aiming for. They both stop jumping, panting from the exertion.

Margaery claps a hand onto his shoulder. “And now, you are a man. Take your de-flowered loins into the celebration awaiting you, my liege.”

Renly grins. “I wasn’t a virgin before.”

Margaery wrinkles her nose. “Oh – oh no, nooo. Way too much information, Renly. I do _not_ need to know about my brother’s sex life.”

Renly opens his mouth to speak, but she shooshes him. “ _No_. I really don’t want to know.”

He wisely hops down off the bed instead, contemplating her for a moment as she hops down after him. “Margaery?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks. If this all works out – you’ve probably saved me from the year from hell. Thank you,” he says, in a serious tone.

Margaery nods, feeling uncomfortable at the solemn look on his face. “Yes, well. Go on.”

Renly unlocks the door and exits first, to cheers. Many a bro who has previously doubted him claps him on the back as he walks through the hallway and back into the party. The bros are all hollering and begging for details. Margaery hopes that Renly will make her sound good in bed, at least.

When Margaery exits, there are no cheers. She shrugs her jacket off and ties it around her waist, having heated up with exertion, but instantly wishes she’d left it on when she feels dozens of eyes on her. Wherever she turns, though, she can’t seem to catch anyone at it.

She walks through the hallway feeling strangely vulnerable. _Don’t be stupid, it’s not as if you_ actually _lost your virginity_ , she thinks, desperate to shake off the unwanted emotion.

In fact, she’s so preoccupied with thinking about how to purge herself of all unwanted emotion (and cursing the day that Willas started getting into Star Trek) that she walks straight into someone, nearly spilling their drink.

“Oh, shit – I’m sorry, I didn’t–” Margaery looks up, and realises that the person she is currently steadying is Sansa stark. “– mean to. Uh, Sansa. Hello. How are you?”

“Fine, wow. Hi, Margaery. Are you okay?” Sansa’s voice is stupidly kind, and it makes Margaery feel warm all over to have it directed at her.

“Fine. Just. You know, completely spaced out, obviously,” Margaery says, snatching her hands back when she realises they’re still resting on Sansa’s arms.

“Oh, do you need a lift home? My brother is picking me up later, I’m sure he could give you a ride if you’ve drunk too much,” Sansa offers, concerned.

“Not that kind of spaced out! No, wow, I haven’t been drinking,” Margaery laughs, before remembering that she came into the party pretending to be drunk. “Or – I did, but I’m sobering up, now. It’s fine. But thank you, for offering.”

“No problem,” Sansa says, but her eyes are distracted, looking behind Margaery. Margaery turns to see what has Sansa’s attention and is greeted with the sight of three drunken members of the school football team, the Crows, pelvic-thrusting in her direction and leering. Something unpleasant twists in her stomach.

“I think – you know what, I think I’m going to leave now. Kind of a boring party, really,” Margaery says, trying her best to sound sweet despite the fact that she feels, for the first time in many years of high school-variety vulgarity, a little like crying. _Better than them. You’re better than them, remember what Grandmother always says_. Sansa’s concerned eyes are hard to look away from.

“Are you sure you don’t want to wait a little longer? Robb said he’ll be here by eleven,” Sansa presses. “Forget about them, honestly. If Jon was here, he’d have their hides. He’s a good captain.”

“No, really, I’ve got to go anyway. Dad hates me being out late. Grandmother likes it, weirdly enough, but – uh, anyway. I’ll see you at school,” Margaery says, ripping her gaze away from Sansa’s worried expression.

“See you,” Sansa says, sounding a little sad.

“Bye,” Margaery repeats, walking away from the stares and the comfort of a pretty girl. _Better on my own,_ she thinks, as she walks away with her head held high.

 

~

 

On Sunday, Olenna appears at Margaery’s door with a gift box in her hands. She sniffs, and Margaery blinks.

“It’s not my birthday, Grandmother, and I’ve made no new rich friends. What’s this?” Margaery asks, from her position at her desk, still stuck on chemistry.

“It’s not from me, my girl. It’s from your brother’s boyfriend. There’s a note, but I didn’t read it,” Olenna says, entering the room and dropping the gift unceremoniously onto the bed.

“… Loras doesn’t have a boyfriend,” Margaery says carefully. She knows for a _fact_ that Loras isn’t out to their grandmother, he’d told her himself.

Olenna levels a withering stare at her. “Margaery, really. If you think I don’t know everything that goes on in this house, I haven’t raised you right.”

“Understood,” Margaery says, feeling not for the first time a little in awe and terror of her grandmother. She can’t help but wonder if Olenna knows about _her_ sexuality … but then again, Margaery’s never had to sneak in a girlfriend the way Loras has snuck around with Renly.

“I don’t know why your _brother’s_ boyfriend is giving you gifts, however. Tread lightly,” Olenna says, nodding towards the gift on the bed.

“Always, Grandmother,” Margaery says respectfully.

“Right. Well, then …” Olenna says, leaving her sentence deliberately unfinished as she exits the room, closing the door behind her with a clack that makes Margaery jump.

Margaery respects her grandmother’s ferocity, but also does not understand her at _all_ sometimes. It makes living with her a constant source of surprises.

She waits until she can hear her grandmother shuffling off before leaping onto the bed to open the box. It’s oblong, and there’s a card on top that she opens first.

 

_Best of boyfriend’s sisters,_

_Thanks for the other night. It meant a lot. Just in case you don’t shop here, I figured you could go fuck yourself._

_Purely platonic kisses,_

_Renly._

There’s a gift card inside the envelope, to a rather fancy high-end fashion store that Margaery loves. She can probably thank Loras for telling Renly that.

The gift inside the box, though, has absolutely nothing to do with her brother. Margaery laughs at Renly’s humour, discovering the obscenely purple dildo within. One more thing to hope Grandmother doesn’t find out about, probably.

 

~

 

Rumours spread unfortunately fast at King’s Landing High.

Margaery has always been popular-lite, good at socialising and better at never setting down roots with any group. She likes it like that, never having to commit to any one particular group, never having to test her loyalty. Grandmother approves of it, too, which is always good come birthdays.

But Margaery is beginning to see the benefits of a loyal friend group by the end of the Monday after the party at Elinor’s. Hardly anyone speaks to her, and the stares and whispers of her peers are just about making her skin crawl until she wants to _scream_ by the final period.

It’s English, again, and Margaery is dreading seeing Sansa who must have heard the rumours by now. Yet when she enters the room, Sansa smiles sunnily at her and waves a greeting. Margaery waves back, feeling something like relief crash over her.

Unfortunately, as she takes her seat, Melisandre Asshai enters the room with a murderous look on her face. She’s heading straight for Margaery, who feels her heart sink. _Oh no_.

Melisandre slaps her hands on Margaery’s desk and glares down at her.

“Well, and hello to you too, Mel. How can I help you?” Margaery asks, pleasantly.

“I wouldn’t accept help from the school _whore_ ,” Melisandre says coolly, hands tense on the side of Margaery’s desk.

“… _Excuse_ me?” Margaery wasn’t quite prepared for _that_.

“Everyone knows you slept with Renly at Elinor’s party on the weekend. I’ll be praying for you,” Melisandre says, cocking an eyebrow in a distinctly condescending manner. Before Margaery can respond, Melisandre sweeps around in her long red skirt and stalks towards the back of the classroom.

Margaery sits, stunned, as Mr. Pycelle walks in and begins to settle the class down. But Melisandre’s confrontation has garnered Margaery a lot of unwanted attention, and the whispers intensify as the lesson goes on. It makes her blood boil, but she doesn’t show how she’s affected on her face. Tyrells are better than that.

“Don’t think about it,” Sansa whispers to her, passing back some notes on the text. “Seriously, they don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“Thanks, Sansa,” Margaery replies quietly. Sansa turns back towards the front with a sympathetic smile.

But it’s hard _not_ to think of what people are saying about her as the subject of the lesson is once again on _The Scarlet Letter_. Margaery flips through the book restlessly, wondering whether Hester felt like how she feels now. _Only worse, because puritans_.

“The significance of the _A,_ of course, is that it marked Hester as an other – to be judged, ostracised, and dehumanised by her community. What’s interesting about this text is that Hester, of course, chooses to submit to this punishment willingly …” Mr. Pycelle’s voice catches Margaery’s attention, despite his usual droning.

_A_ for adulterer. For tramp. For slut, for whore. For harlot and trollop and skank. All words Margaery is getting used to catching on the wind, never outright said to her face.

_Well_ , Margaery thinks with determination, fingering the gift card Renly got her in her purse, _if a slut is what they want, then a slut is what they’re going to get._


	2. The Accelerated Velocity of Terminological Inexactitude.

~

 

_“So, I may have reacted a little harshly to fake-losing my virginity. I mean, shit, no one told me I was going to have to put up with real life religious zealots like Melisandre. I was just trying to do a favour for a friend, seven hells, a favour for a family member in the process._

_Oh, shit, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m trying to keep the details vague, seeing as there’s so many different versions of what happened with me floating around. I figure as long as you know they’re_ all _lies, you won’t be able to figure out_ who _asked or_ why _they asked me to do what I did. I don’t want to out anyone when this whole mess started because I was trying to be supportive._

_That said, I … I’m not proud of this next part.”_

~

 

Margaery walks into school next week with cool determination and not a tiny bit of righteous anger.

She’d used the gift card from Renly that weekend to go on a bit of a spree, buying the raciest clothes she’s fairly certain she’ll be able to get away with at school. They’re all suggestive, but show no more skin than school regulations prohibit. She also buys a short length of red velvet, and sews a red letter _A_ on every single piece – though there are a few mistakes on the way, and her hands have far too many pinpricks by the time she’s done. In the end, though, Margaery has an excellent array of lacy, push-up, dangerously low-cut outfits each with their own shiny _A_ for adulterer prepared.

The eyes on her _now_ make her feel powerful.

She walks along the hallway to her first class – English – feeling like a queen. Several boys do a double take when they see her, and she waves and smiles flirtatiously in greeting. Surprisingly, several girls do the same – but Margaery’s not quite confident enough yet to wave to them. Instead, she simply blows kisses at the jealous ones and their boyfriends – that’s much easier to explain away as deliberate baiting.

She feels so confident that she hardly notices Melisandre stalking up to her with barely restrained fury on her face until she’s standing right in front of her.

“You _harlot_ ,” Melisandre snarls, trembling before Margaery as if the very sight of her is offensive. Which, to Melisandre ‘ _I love the lord of light more than thou’_ Asshai, it probably is.

“A harlot? Gee, I thought the _A_ stood for adulterer. You should pay more attention in English, Mel,” Margaery says, with a syrupy-sweet smile.

“You think this is funny. But there’s a higher power that will judge you. He will judge us all and _you_ will _definitely_ be found wanting,” Melisandre hisses.

Margaery gasps loudly, putting a hand to her mouth in pretend shock. “Oh, a higher power? How truly awful. I guess I’ll just have to bang him too.”

Margaery has heard the term ‘seeing red’ before, but she’s never seen it happen right in front of her until Melisandre outright _growls_ , like something out of a terrible werewolf movie before her. Slightly alarmed, Margaery nonetheless blows Melisandre another kiss and continues her exaggerated swagger down the hall.

The words that she keeps catching thrown her way feel funny, now, instead of hurtful. And it’s fitting that she’s on her way to English, since her classmates will definitely understand the significance of the _A_ , even if the other students are simply staring at her new clothes. That’s what she really wants – to have her reputation branded on her today, to defy it by living it, because that’s what they all think of her anyway.

When she walks in, Sansa isn’t there.

Margaery tries not to feel disappointed – though it’s not too difficult when she remembers _Sansa_ is going to see her dressed like this too, not just her irritating classmates and Melisandre. Maybe it’s for the best that Sansa doesn’t know about Margaery’s … well, her now _verified_ reputation.

Except just as Margaery thinks that, Sansa walks in and stops in the doorway, staring at her with an expression that Margaery can’t decipher. She waves at Sansa weakly. Sansa hesitantly raises a hand back, before someone behind her shoves her forward unceremoniously. Sansa turns red and quickly marching to her seat, not saying a word to Margaery.

Margaery tries not to let her heart sink at the obvious dismissal, but it’s difficult.

The lesson passes without Mr. Pycelle even noticing her outfit, droning on and on as he usually does. He reminds Margaery a little of the history of magic teacher from Harry Potter – which she only knows about because of Willas, as usual. But the other students whisper amongst themselves, and that gives her a little satisfaction, especially when she can practically feel Melisandre staring daggers at the back of her head.

At the end of class, Margaery is gathering up her things when she senses someone approaching her desk. Without looking up, she reaches down to the floor to pick up an escaped pen.

“Mel, if this is more fire and brimstone talk, I have to be honest and say that you can shove it up your –”

“It’s not Melisandre,” a voice interrupts, sounding a little embarrassed.

Margaery looks up, finally having located the pen, and nearly chokes when she realises it’s Sansa standing before her.

“Oh, my gods. I’m so sorry,” Margaery says hurriedly.

Sansa laughs, a ridiculously charming sound – Margaery has never understood the idea of laughter sounding like bells before, but she thinks she’s starting to get it now. “It’s fine. I just, I wanted to say – you look really –”

“Skanky?” Margaery interrupts, shrugging.

Sansa looks surprised. “Uh, no. I was going to say you look nice. It – green is a good colour on you.”

“I thought I looked a bit like a sevenmas tree, actually, between the red and green,” Margaery admits.

Sansa’s expression turns soft, something shy in her eyes. “No. You look amazing.”

Margaery opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out at first. Finally she gathers herself enough to speak. “You’re probably the only one who isn’t scandalised,” she mutters.

“Nah. It’s just another way to get back at them. They’re stupid if they can’t see that.”

“Well, you seem to be the only one who does,” Margaery says, a little more honestly than she intends to.

“Ha. Well. Anyway, I have to get to class,” Sansa says, looking regretful. “I’ll see you later.”

“Bye,” Margaery says, and it’s only after Sansa leaves that she realises she’s still sitting in her seat and the bell is about to go. She picks up her books and pens and rushes off, trying not to think about the soft way Sansa had looked at her.

 

~

 

She’s sitting alone outside on a sad-looking bench, somewhat irritated that there’s no one around to see how scandalous she looks, when Samwell Tarly approaches with a nervous look on his face. Margaery watches him make his way towards her with idle curiosity. Everyone’s true natures seem to be in the process of being revealed in response to Margaery’s outfit today.

“Margaery? I was wondering if I could talk to you,” Sam says, looking about as prepared to talk to her as a mouse is to negotiate with a cat.

“What’s going on, big boy?” Margaery asks, keeping her tone light.

Sam shuffles closer. “Look, don’t be angry … but Renly told me what you did for him.”

“…Well. Let me assure you that it was absolutely thrilling,” Margaery says, suspicious.

Sam looks somewhat apologetic. “Ah, no. He told me what you actually did. The – pretending.”

Margaery sucks on her teeth. “Tell him that defeats the purpose next time you see him, then,” she says, feeling a little stung. _I risk my entire reputation and he tells the first person he sees it wasn’t even true_.

“Um, I will. But I was just wondering – would you consider doing the same for me? I can pay you.”

Margaery has to take a minute to process what he’s said. “That was … kind of a one-time only deal, Sam. Sorry.”

Sam’s expression turns desperate. “I could always just say I did anyway!”

Margaery stands up, somehow looming over him despite the five or six inches he has on her. “Samwell Tarly, I would be well within my rights to _slap_ you right now.”

His face turns ashen. “Oh, gods. You’re right. I can’t believe I said that. I’m so sorry.”

“Good,” Margaery spits at him, before sitting back down with a huff to continue eating her sandwich. Sam sits down beside her.

“I just … No one will give me the time of day at this stupid school,” he says, sounding resigned.

Margaery chews slowly and swallows. “Not true. I’ve seen Jon Snow hanging out with you. You’re practically inseparable.”

Sam snorts. “Yeah, until he and Ygritte get back together, and then it’s ‘Sam, Ygritte is so pretty. Sam, Ygritte and I had another fight. Sam, Ygritte told me I’m a privileged git again. Sam, Ygritte’s the most _amazing_ kisser.’ All they ever do is break up and have make-up sex. It’s not even that Ygritte’s a bad person or anything, that would make this so much easier. She and Jon are just better off as friends. Meanwhile I’m stuck pathetically pining after him the whole time while he goes _on_ and _on_ about her.”

Margaery blinks at the unexpected outburst. “Well, shit, Sam. I didn’t know you were gay.”

Sam looks moodily at the ground. “No one does. But everyone knows I’m just a fat piece of shit, it’s not as if being out would change anything. I thought if I told people I’d slept with the prettiest girl in school maybe I’d get some respect, or something.”

Margaery feels a pang of sympathy at the words ‘fat piece of shit.’ She’s unfortunately aware that that’s the kind language born of deep self-hatred. “See, that’s why you’re too nice, Sam. I am the prettiest, but anyone else would have called me the hottest. Amateur mistake.”

Sam laughs, though there’s little humour in it. “Yeah, I guess so. I just wish high school was over. I mean, Jon and Ygritte too, but mostly high school.”

Margaery takes another bite of her sandwich,  trying to distract herself from the urge to do something stupid. Unfortunately, it’s the last piece of her sandwich.

She sighs. “All right, Sam. Fine.”

“What?” Sam looks confused.

“We didn’t sleep together. We made out twice, and you felt up my boobs, because frankly they’re amazing and I don’t care if you’re gay, you have to realise that. I want a generous gift card to _Typography_ , deposited into my locker by tomorrow. That’s as much as I’m willing to do, so get on it and make your boy jealous or I’ll be forced to rescind all statements.”

Sam stares at her in shock for a moment, before a smile appears. “I – thank you, Margaery. Wow. Shit, I’ll get right on it.”

“You’d better,” Margaery says, raising her chin a little in an attempt to look queenly. She thinks Grandmother might even approve of such a well-done piece of business, were her reputation not on the line.

 

~

 

The thing is, apparently Samwell Tarly is just as bad at keeping secrets as Renly.

Because more rumours fly, thick and fast like a cloud of very annoying moths, and at this stage Margaery is starting to get irritated that her love life is making so much news when in reality she’s got exactly no one interested in her and she’s still nervous talking to the _one_ person she _is_ interested in. The worst part is that some of the rumours are true – because boys keep coming to her and asking her to lie for them. And Margaery, because she really likes gift cards – or maybe because she responds to a sob story with so much empathy it should realistically revolt her – _does_ lie.

They’re always different. Sometimes she says she made out with them, sometimes that she flashed them, or on a couple of occasions, gave them a handy. The last one is expensive for her clients, though. And she never admits to sleeping with anyone other than Renly, because that one was a genuine favour to a friend. Sadly, that doesn’t stop people from believing that she has.

She does draw the line at Tommen Baratheon, however. The kid is _fourteen_. He gets a flat out no and an anonymous note to his sister to look out for him more.

It gets so bad that Melisandre’s brand of accusatory, holier-than-thou preaching actually starts to gain a little popularity from unexpected quarters. It happens in English, _again_ – because of course it does.

“I’d like to open this up to a class discussion. Let’s talk about what Hester did – do you consider it immoral? Were the consequences justified? Where do you see similar ostracising in society today?” Mr. Pycelle must have been taking classes on teaching, or something, because it’s the first effort he’s made towards class participation that Margaery can remember.

She wishes he hadn’t.

Randa Royce, for the first time perhaps _ever_ , raises her hand, looking smug. _I’ve got a bad feeling about this_ , Margaery thinks, before cursing Willas’ sci fi obsession for the hundredth time.

“I have some thoughts, actually, Mr. Pycelle. I was thinking that it made perfect sense for the town to shame Hester for her behaviour. She really brought it on herself. And anyway –” Randa turns, unmistakeably, towards Margaery. “Harlots like her really shouldn’t be allowed to spread _disease_ in their communities.”

“I’m sorry, Randa, did you have something you wanted to say to me?” Margaery says through gritted teeth, offended that _Randa_ of all people is accusing her of spreading STDs. Randa used to be proud of her sexuality – apparently Melisandre’s even gotten to her. “Because the last I checked, the only slut in the room is you.”

The class gasps, and Mr. Pycelle calls for them to be quiet, a perfectly useless gesture. “Miss Tyrell, that kind of language is inappropriate in this classroom. Take a detention slip and report to the principal.”

“What? But she started it!” Margaery cries, outraged.

“You can’t do that, Mr. Pycelle!” Sansa’s voice is an unexpected support.

“I can and I certainly will, Miss Stark,” Mr. Pycelle says, puffed up with indignation.

“Oh, really? Well you’d better send me too. Go – go _fuck_ yourself, Mr. Pycelle!” Sansa’s voice stutters a little over the word _fuck_ , and Margaery’s mouth hangs open in shock. She’s _never_ heard Sansa talk back to a teacher since she met her in the seventh grade.

“Detention, Miss Stark!” Mr. Pycelle practically shouts at her.

But when Margaery walks out of the classroom with Sansa, there’s a flushed look of pride on her face. Margaery feels a little faint with it. The principal’s office is sadly very nearby, so they don’t get a chance to talk until detention itself that afternoon, stuck scraping ancient bubblegum relics off the undersides of desks.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” Margaery says, breaking the awkward silence that’s fallen between them.

“Yes, I did. I can’t believe what Randa said about you. I don’t know what’s gotten into her lately, she used to be really nice,” Sansa says, sounding adorably innocent.

“Well,” Margaery grunts, struggling with a particularly stubborn piece of gum, “All religions need a devil figure. I think I may accidentally have made Melisandre’s preaching and shouting look attractive. The rumours about the uh, STD stuff aren’t true though. Honestly.”

“I believe you,” Sansa says, unquestioningly. “But even if it was true I wouldn’t care. I don’t listen to idle gossip these days. It’s all lies and slander as far as I’m concerned.”

_Why does she have to be so perfect_?

“You may be the only one who thinks so. I think I’m meant to have slept with half the school by now,” Margaery says, giving up and dropping her scraper on the floor with a clatter. She really only has herself to blame, though, considering how many rumours she herself has started.

“Not half the school, surely.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” Margaery says absent-mindedly, examining the stuck gum with a critical eye.

“Because that would probably include a few girls,” Sansa says, her voice light.

Margaery looks up at her so fast she nearly pulls a muscle.

“Huh. True,” she says. There’s a few seconds of silence before she speaks again. “I mean, would you … would you have a problem if I liked girls?” She holds her breath, waiting for Sansa’s answer.

Sansa sets down her scraper next to Margaery’s, before looking up at her. “No. I’m actually – as a matter of fact, I …” Sansa swallows before continuing, and Margaery’s heart beats a little faster.

“I try to be supportive of all different, um, sexualities,” she says, sounding a little flustered.

Margaery’s heart sinks a little. It’s a good answer in a lot of ways – her first coming out could have been worse – but it’s a straight girl answer, too. There goes any chance of dating her.

“Thanks, Sansa,” Margaery says quietly.

“It’s fine,” Sansa answers.

But there’s a tiny frown between her eyebrows that doesn’t leave for the rest of the detention, and Margaery doesn’t know what it means.

 

~

 

“FAMILY MOVIE NIGHT! I CALL STAR TREK: BEYOND!”

Willas has a particularly loud voice for a boy with such a frail body.

Margaery groans in sync with her siblings, but it can’t be helped. They’re still sitting at the dinner table, Willas having sped off early to set up the television. Garlan in particular looks less than enthused about the film choice. _Probably hoping for yet another war documentary_ , Margaery thinks, grateful for small mercies in that that eventuality has been avoided tonight. Loras doesn’t look too upset, though – probably thinking about how good Chris Pine is going to look. Or at least, Margaery’s definitely thinking that.

“Actually, I want to talk to Margaery.” Olenna’s voice interrupts their efforts to clear the table. Margaery freezes. Their parents aren’t home tonight, out on some desperate attempt to reinvigorate their marriage with expensive food.

“Why?” she asks, blankly. _Oh gods. Please don’t let her have found Renly’s purple dildo_.

“Because, my girl, you got a detention today. What happened?” Olenna’s voice sounds sounds flat, and her expression is, to put it mildly, displeased.

Margaery chooses her next words carefully. “Some girl in class called me a … rude word, so I … gave back as good as she deserved. And I got detention.”

“Oh, Margaery. Really. You expect me to believe this has nothing to do with your wardrobe? Your recent behaviour? I had to have it from _Joanna Lannister_ of all people that you’ve been sleeping around.”

“Grandmother!” Margaery cries, unable to help herself. Garlan and Loras are both currently trying to blend in with the walls, dishes forgotten. “Seven _hells_. That’s not true. And anyway, I though you liked Joanna.”

“I _respect_ Joanna. That is not _liking_ her, and you’d do well to know the difference if you’re ever to climb back up the social ladder you seem determined to tumble down at the moment. I’ll give you one more chance to tell the truth,” Olenna announces, crossing her wiry arms and raising her eyebrows.

Margaery is speechless. _But I am telling the truth_ , she wants to say. Nothing comes out.

“Fine. You’re grounded. Until further notice,” Olenna says, looking an angry sort of disappointed.

“That’s not fair! It’s not true!” Margaery says, fuming.

Olenna sighs. “Come back to me when you’re willing to tell the truth, Margaery. You’re too old for this kind of behaviour anymore.” She shuffles towards the loungeroom, Garlan and Loras following behind quietly. Loras doesn’t even look at her.

_I was telling the truth_ , Margaery thinks hopelessly. _It’s not my fault no one believes me anymore_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I wasn't expecting to have a second chapter up so soon. Or that this fic would get such a response? Thanks, guys! <3 Obviously I've decided to drop some of the plot threads from the actual movie Easy A, so this fic isn't going to be SUPER long. But I'm hoping it'll make more sense considering how different a lot of the ASOIAF characters are from the actual ones in the movie, haha. Comments and kudos are appreciated, as always!


	3. Not With a Fizzle, But With a Bang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: a non-con kiss, and discussion of sexual assault. Detailed warnings can be found in the end notes.

~

 

“ _Maybe it was because my chances with someone I_ actually _liked were shot to hell, or maybe it was because I’d just been grounded and I really wanted to stick it to my grandmother, but I did something kind of stupid next. And this’ll be one of the few times I name names, folks, because what Joffrey Baratheon did is not deserving of anonymity_.”

 

Margaery doesn’t have English on Thursdays.

And that means that she doesn’t see Sansa all day, which is probably a good thing considering the fact that every time Margaery thinks about her, she’s also reminded of the sad fact of Sansa’s heterosexuality. Unfortunately, not seeing the only person who doesn’t believe the rumours about her means that Margaery gets to feel twice as alone as usual as people continue to stare at her, the red _A_ today embroidered over her left tit, which Margaery is now beginning to regret.

So maybe she’s feeling a little vulnerable and unloved. Maybe, despite her ability to never feel lonely in a crowd up until now … she’s finally managed to isolate herself completely.

Which is why, at lunch, when Joffrey Baratheon sits down at her empty table, she doesn’t immediately tell him to fuck off.

“Hey, Margaery,” Joffrey says, a weirdly pleasant smile on his face.

“… Hey, Joffrey,” Margaery replies, equally as pleasantly. Grandmother will never forgive her if she insults Joanna Lannister’s grandson.

“So,” Joffrey starts, scooting a little closer, “I was wondering whether you’d be interested in going on a date tonight.”

Margaery blinks.

“A date?”

Joffrey smiles, easy and friendly. “Sure! How about at that old pub at the end of town? I’ll pay, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“… Um,” Margaery says, unable to think of a good answer. Joffrey’s kind of a prick. Still, Grandmother would be very pleased if she managed to snag him, yet simultaneously pissed off if she disobeyed the grounding rule … And it’s not as if she has a chance with Sansa, so ...

“Come on,” Joffrey says, with a hint of impatience. “Let’s just have some fun, yeah?”

_I could use some fun_.

“Sure. Okay, then. Um. See you there?” Margaery tries not to show how bemused she feels.

“Sounds great,” Joffrey says, before standing and sauntering over to his regular table.

_I can’t believe I just agreed to a date with Joffrey Baratheon_ , Margaery thinks, amazed. But Joffrey catches her staring and winks at her. Apparently she did.

 

~

 

That night, she dresses nice. A pretty green dress, without an _A_ this time. She piles her braids on top of her head and runs a ribbon through them, and when she does her make-up, she makes her eyeliner particularly sharp.

And it’s not because she wants to look nice for Joffrey, not really. She’s not certain she’ll give him a second date – in fact, she’s pretty sure she won’t. It’s just that after branding herself a slut and then _actually_ pretending to sleep around a lot, it’s nice to think that for once she can go on a date with no expectations, no sexual suggestions. Just a nice dinner, even if the boy is less nice. She wants that.

She arrives on time, at the Wolf’s Head Inn. It’s a bit of a silly name, in Margaery’s opinion – trying a bit too hard to be a bit too old-timey. But it was Joffrey’s suggestion, so she doesn’t comment on it when he arrives in a ludicrously expensive car that she can hear roaring from halfway down the road before it arrives.

“Hey,” she says by way of greeting, when he gets out.

He smiles, that same cocksure grin from lunch. “Hey yourself, Margaery. You look great. Isn’t your hair heavy?”

Margaery shrugs, a little taken aback. “I don’t really notice it anymore. They were a bit heavy when I first got them, but … Well, Grandmother calls them my crown, and a crown is not meant to weight lightly.”

“Cool,” Joffrey says, before opening the door for her.

When they’re seated at the table, and having placed their orders, an awkward silence falls. Margaery tries to think about what Grandmother would do.

“How’s your grandmother?” she blurts out.

“My – grandmother?”

… _His grandmother_?!

Margaery hurries to explain herself. “Uh, well. Your grandmother, Joanna. She’s friends with my paternal grandmother – Olenna. I was just wondering how … she is.”

“… She’s fine,” Joffrey says, looking a little perplexed.

“Great.”

Margaery tries to think of more topics to talk about, but it’s difficult to think of something that won’t immediately shatter the fragile image of Joffrey she has as only partially a douchebag. She knows he _is_ one, but she just wants a nice date for once, and sadly Joffrey’s has been the only offer.

But as she looks over the pub-inn-restaurant, her eyes catch on a curtain of red hair, and she freezes. _Oh no. Oh no, anyone but her_.

It’s Sansa. Worse still, it’s Sansa dressed as a waitress, talking to her father behind the bar who clearly works there and quite probably _owns_ the place.

Margaery may panic a little.

“Oh, shit. Shit. We need to leave,” she says, ducking her head down low.

“Leave?” Joffrey looks surprised, to say the least. He looks displeased.

“Yeah, right now. I have a gift certificate, don’t worry about it. I’ll just leave it here. Come on, we have to go,” Margaery hisses, trying to subtly inch her way out of the booth.

Joffrey manages to slip out first, casually strolling through the door – but as Margaery glances back to check if anyone has seen her, her eyes catch on Sansa’s. Sansa’s expression seems to drain, a blank look replacing whatever was there before. Margaery’s heart aches at the sight of it, but she runs outside anyway, fearing what it might mean.

Outside, Joffrey is waiting by his car, a pleased look on his face. “Hey, so. I won’t ask what that was about. I guess you’re pretty eager.”

“Eager?” Margaery is preoccupied with the look on Sansa’s face as she attempts to open the car door, but she looks up when Joffrey closes it before she can get in.

“Yeah. But don’t worry about it, I’ve got 300 right here.”

Margaery stares at him, uncomprehending. And then she looks down at his outstretched hand, and the bills within. For a moment, everything seems to stop, and despite how terrible she’s felt over the last three weeks, she realises she’s never felt so alone.

“I didn’t realise you intended to pay me,” she says quietly.

“I’m not a cheapskate.” Joffrey shakes the bills impatiently.

“No, I – Joffrey, I’ve been pretending to hook up with people. I haven’t _actually_ been hooking up with people,” Margaery says, feeling queasy.

“What’s the difference? Just take the money,” Joffrey says, beginning to sound downright pissed off.

“No! Oh my gods, _no_ ,” Margaery cries, a lump in her throat where there wasn’t one before.

Joffrey takes back his hand and shrugs, but Margaery’s relief only lasts a moment. In the next, Joffrey is leaning in, putting his hands around her waist as he tries to kiss her. Margaery jerks back.

“Seven hells, I said _no_ ,” she says, trying to step back. But his arms grip her tightly.

“Come on. You’ve done it with half the school. All the rumours can’t be false. Just relax,” he says, with a grin that causes a shudder of revulsion to wash over her.

“No!” She tries again to step back, but Joffrey’s not the skinny boy he was only a few years ago, and he still has hold of her. Just as she’s beginning to panic, a voice shouts from behind him.

“ _Hey_! Get off her, you cowardly little prick!” The voice belongs to a man, and perhaps that is why Joffrey listens and releases her. He turns, snarling, towards the voice, but stops when he sees who it is.

Robb Stark is walking furiously towards them, Sansa only a few steps behind. The look on Sansa’s face is one of deep anxiety, but Robb looks furious.

“I thought I told you if I ever saw you within a hundred metres of my sister again I’d throttle you, you little shit,” Robb growls. Margaery’s heart nearly stops at the implication.

“Fuck off, Stark,” Joffrey spits back. “I’m gone. This bitch is frigid all of a sudden anyway.”

“This _bitch_ never wanted you anyway,” Margaery says, bravado returning with Robb and Sansa nearby.

Joffrey lets out a few more choice swears as he makes his way around the car and jumps in, slamming the door and making Margaery jump. He starts it with a roar and screams off, speeding, but his being gone only makes Margaery feel marginally better.

“Are you all right?” Robb’s voice is gentle now that Joffrey’s gone. Sansa stands by his side, her posture stiff.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Margaery says, with more composure than she feels.

“And you, Sansa?” Robb turns to his sister, concern evident on his face.

She nods. “I’m fine. Thank you, Robb. Best brother ever,” she says, with a weak smile.

“Don’t let Rickon catch you saying that,” he says, with a far stronger grin. “Don’t worry about the rest of your shift. I’ll cover you.”

“Thank you,” Sansa says, giving him a quick hug. Margaery stands idly by, feeling awkward and strange.

Robb nods at Margaery one final time before heading back inside, leaving Margaery and Sansa alone. For a moment there is silence.

“Come on. I’ll give you a lift home,” Sansa says, in a gentle voice, seeming to have mustered up her courage now that Joffrey is gone.

“Oh, you don’t have to –” Margaery begins, already remembering her manners.

“Yes. I do,” Sansa says, looking at her sadly, as if she knows. Perhaps she does.

Without another word, Margaery follows Sansa to a grey car near the back entrance of the inn, and gets in without complaint on the passenger side. Sansa quickly starts the car and begins to drive, the radio chattering quietly in the background about the latest must-have brand of dish soap. Unfortunately, Margaery is missing out entirely on the riveting advertisement, because against her better judgement, she’s started to sob. With her head in her hands, the tears come flowing so thick and fast some hysterical part of her thinks she must look like an one of Willas’s anime characters.

She’s tired. Tired of being called names, even if she did sort of invite them by pretending to be what they think she is. She’s tired of Melisandre and her cronies sniggering when she enters the room, and she hates that she can’t stop thinking about how popular she used to be – or thought she was, considering how quickly everyone has turned on her. Most of all, she’s tired of boys like Joffrey who think she’s up for sale. And she’s scared. Scared for all the future boys who will try the same thing on her.

A hand touches her on her shoulder and she starts, having forgotten Sansa was there. Looking up at Sansa’s worried face, she sees that they’ve stopped – Sansa has pulled over in a side street.

“Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry,” Margaery gasps out between sobs.

“No, no – please don’t be sorry,” Sansa says, unbuckling her seatbelt so she can move closer. “Margaery, honestly. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Yes, I did,” Margaery hiccups, fighting to get the words out. “I lied. Sansa, I told everyone that I was sleeping around, even though I’m a _virgin_. And I told all those lies for money, and then I _branded_ myself a whore and I was somehow surprised when everyone started treating me like one.”

“They don’t have the right to treat you like that, Margaery, it wouldn’t matter how many people you’d slept with. Gods, Marg,” Sansa says, sounding angry – but not with Margaery. “It would not matter, all right? Even if you’d slept with a hundred people. They shouldn’t give a damn. I don’t care. I don’t see why they do.”

Margaery wipes away a few tears with a trembling hand, sucking in deep breaths in an effort to calm herself. Sansa produces a tissue from somewhere, and Margaery accepts it with quiet thanks, wiping her face and nose. She gathers herself to speak.

“Well, regardless of whether I deserve it or not, no one is going to believe me now if I try to tell the truth.”

“I believe you,” Sansa says, in a voice so soft that all Margaery can do is stare. Sansa takes a deep breath. “You probably – you might not know this, but I dated Joffrey in eighth grade for a couple of months.”

“You dated _Joffrey_?” Margaery says, amazed despite herself. After all, hadn’t she just tried to do the same thing?

Sansa laughs. “I did. It was over the summer break – that’s why no one at school heard about it. His family and mine both happened to end up at this super fancy holiday spot, it’s very popular with rich and influential people – and this was before my dad quit to start managing the inn for my uncle when he got sick. Anyway. The point is, I was … struggling with some stuff, and convinced myself I was in love with him.”

Margaery can’t help but make a disbelieving noise at that. Sansa looks down and shakes her head, embarrassed.

“I know, I know. But I was fourteen. I didn’t know any better. Still, after a couple of months of dating, I was starting to realise that maybe he wasn’t all he’d made himself out to be. But then … then he tried to do the same thing to me that he just tried to do to you. Only he got a little further.”

“He didn’t …?” Margaery can’t bring herself to speak the words.

“No. I got away. But he did enough.”

Margaery reaches out, touching Sansa’s arm. Sansa puts her hand over Margaery’s, and despite the circumstances, it still makes Margaery’s heart flutter a little.

“Um, well. For a long time I didn’t tell anyone. And I thought it was my fault. Eventually, my parents realised something was wrong, but … in the end, it was Robb I told, before anyone else. And he was so angry at first I was frightened. But he wasn’t angry at me. He said none of it was my fault. And he said he was going to kill Joffrey if he ever got the chance, but by the time he said that Dad had walked in and then I had to tell him and Mum everything that happened.”

“Seven above,” Margaery murmurs. “That must have sucked.”

Sansa raises her eyebrows and nods. “Oh, yeah. It did. They didn’t do anything wrong, but I felt terrible anyway. And then dad quit his job working for Robert – Joffrey’s father – and I felt like that was my fault too. Of course, uncle Benjen’s illness also had a bit to do with it, but still.”

“Yeah.”

“And no one at school knew. I came back the next semester and Joffrey still had girls fawning over him. He spread a rumour that I’d slept with him – I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it, actually. I’d never felt so alone.”

“Well, Sansa, I can honestly say I know how you feel,” Margaery says, with something of an almost-smile on her face.

“I know,” Sansa says, stroking her thumb against Margaery’s hand on her arm. “That’s why I’m telling you. You’re not alone. And you’re not the first girl to pay the price for a bloke’s mistake. Or even a whole bunch of guys’ mistakes.”

“True. Guess I’m not a very good feminist, then,” Margaery muses. “I’ll have to stop shaving and wearing make-up, and like, become a massive lesbian too. Although, you know – the bisexuality should count for that.”

Sansa laughs, but there’s redness in her cheeks. “I don’t know about the shaving and stuff. I mean, unless you want to.”

“It’d certainly repel boys like Joffrey. So there’s that,” Margaery replies.

Sansa giggles, hand coming up to cover her mouth. It’s an adorably polite gesture, and Margaery can’t help but feel lucky to be with Sansa right now, despite the circumstances that had led to it. Sansa squeezes her hand suddenly, and looks her in the eyes.

“Listen, Margaery. The other day, when you told me about being bisexual …”

“Oh, wow. Yeah, sorry for dumping that on you,” Margaery says, cringing. “You reacted fine, though, don’t worry about it.”

“No,” Sansa says, looking determined, “I didn’t. I should have been honest with you.”

Margaery’s heart skips a beat. “About what?”

“The truth … the truth is … you remember the party in eighth grade? When they locked us both in Arianne Martell’s bedroom?”

“I’m surprised you remember that,” Margaery says, confused.

“Well, I do. Because that … that was the first time I realised I really, really wanted to kiss girls.”

Margaery’s mouth opens, but she cannot think of what to say, Sansa’s words repeating in her head like a mantra. _I really, really wanted to kiss girls … wanted to kiss girls_ …

Sansa looks down. “Um, sorry. You probably don’t remember it like that.”

Margaery wants to reply in the negative, but she still can’t speak.

“The point is that I went into complete denial about it for ages. That’s how I ended up dating Joffrey. I convinced myself I _must_ like him, because how could I not? Of course, that didn’t work out, to say the least. But then I – afterwards, I did a lot of thinking, and I’m pretty sure … I mean, I know now, I’m a lesbian. Like, gay. And, um, please say something because I meant to tell you the other day but I’ve never come out before and this is new to me so I got scared, but I’m telling you now.”

“You’re gay?” Margaery squeaks, their every interaction replaying in her head in a new light with the knowledge that _Sansa plays for her godsdamned team after all_.

“Yeah. Wow, actually … that’s the first time I’ve said that out loud,” Sansa says, still sound nervous, but looking pleased with herself.

Margaery is not proud of the next words that come out of her mouth. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for three years and _you’ve been gay this whole time_?”

Sansa’s face can only be described as strawberry-pink. “You – I’m sorry, I think I just hallucinated. What did you say?”

Margaery snatches her hands back and covers her face with a groan. “Oh my gods. I’m so sorry, Sansa. I didn’t – I never meant to tell you like that.”

“So you – you _did_ just say you wanted to kiss me?”

Margaery nods from behind her hands. “Um. Yes.”

_Smooth moves, Tyrell_.

“Right,” Sansa says, in a high-pitched tone. “See, I thought you had. That’s good. Because I really want to kiss you too.”

Margaery looks up, and has her breath stolen a little by how beautiful Sansa looks in the streetlight they’re parked under, which is just _unfair_.

“You do?”

“I do,” Sansa says, shyly.

For a moment, Margaery simply continues to stare, before blurting out yet another stupid sentence. “I can’t kiss you.”

“Oh, right, sorry,” Sansa stutters out, before Margaery realises what she’s said and scrambles to explain.

“Oh! No! No, I mean, I can’t kiss you when Joffrey just stuck his tongue down my throat fifteen minutes ago. I really – I really want to kiss you. But not tonight. I’ve got tears all over my face and Joffrey’s saliva in my mouth, probably.” _And I need to set the record straight at school_.

“That’s fair,” Sansa says, looking relieved.

“Sansa?” Margaery begins, unsure how to ask for what she wants. “I have a favour to ask.”

“Whatever you need,” Sansa says, without question. It makes Margaery love her even more.

“I want to tell the truth at school. Be honest about all the rumours, come clean. But I think I’ll need some help. And also I would also like to date you.”

“Could you repeat that last?” Sansa says, but there’s a teasing note to her voice.

“Oh, shut up,” Margaery laughs.

Sansa smiles at her. “Yes. To all of the above. I’ll help. And – the other thing.”

“Okay,” Margaery says, a grin plastering itself across her face almost without her permission.

“Okay.” Margaery’s smile is only matched by Sansa’s own.

They drive home without much more said, each glancing at the other and smiling every few minutes. When they arrive at Margaery’s house, she frowns, puzzled

“How did you know where my house was?”

“Carpooling when we were kids.”

“I can’t remember any of that route,” Margaery says, confused.

“Me either. I just remember your house. I always the loved the roses – and, well. Sometimes I wanted to come inside.”

“Oh, is that so?” Margaery teases, bordering on flirting.

“Oh, be quiet,” Sansa says, but there’s another shy smile on her face.

“I won’t say a word. But here’s my number,” Margaery replies, scribbling down her phone number on a scrap of paper from her purse. “Text me.” She winks and opens the door, feeling much more confident than she had only minutes ago. From Sansa’s stunned expression, it shows.

Margaery sneaks back into her room that night feeling better than she has in months. When her phone alerts her to a new text from a number than can only be Sansa, she feels even better. And when Sansa’s text suggests a plan that will allow her to tell the whole school the truth in the next 24 hours, Margaery feels like she could float away with how hard she’s fallen for Sansa Stark.

 

~

 

The next day, Margaery puts on her final outfit. The _A_ on this one is a little sloppily sewn, and that’s why she’d waited so long to wear it. That, and it’s basically straight-up lingerie. At school, she wears a cardigan to cover it up until it’s time, but still – the corset is visible and she gets a number of curious stares. There’s also the fact that she’s holding Sansa’s hand. That might have something to do with it.

At lunch, she glances at Sansa, who’s already looking at her with an expression that can only be described as un-fuck-withable. It gives Margaery the strength she needs to climb on top of the table and take off her cardigan.

“HEY! Listen up, people!” Margaery’s shouting carries across the cafeteria easily, and hundreds of faces turn towards her in an instant. She tries not to wobble in her ridiculously high heels as Sansa climbs up beside her.

“So, it’s come to my attention that some of you have been hankering for a little bit of a show. Well, I hope you’re into girl-on-girl, because my girl Sansa –” Margaery loops an arm around her waist and pulls her closer – “Well, she and I are definitely going to put on a _show_ tonight at six.”

Sansa begins shouting the web address, repeating it as multiple students scramble for their phones to write it down. Margaery can’t help but laugh at them all, despite how nervous she feels, and despite the tension in Sansa’s shoulders. It’s a hell of a risk they’re taking, but damn if it isn’t effective.

At that moment, Margaery notices a pair of teachers with thunderous expressions walking towards them, and she squeaks and begins to climb to the floor, pulling Sansa down with her. Sansa quickly catches on, and the two of them pick up their bags and run, not bothering to try to stay in school for the rest of the day – they go straight back to Margaery’s house, and wait for six o’clock to arrive, rehearsing Margaery’s speech the entire time.

 

~

 

“ _And that’s where you lovely folk come in. I know you’re all here to see me and Sansa get it on, because in a really irritating turn of events, you want to see girls making out even though you hate us dating. The entire reason I’m in this mess is because of homophobia, too. For that, I must say a hearty fuck you to everyone who made my anonymous friend feel so unsafe that he became one of my many imaginary bonks._

_On a more personal note, however, I have to say that I find it disappointing that so many of you were so easily taken in. This is high school, I know, so maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised. But I can’t help but wonder why not only did you all believe what you heard, but you then felt free to judge me for it._

_Because if I learned one thing from all of this, it’s that it wouldn’t have mattered if I really did sleep with everyone I was said to have slept with. It’s none of your godsdamned business, and my level of promiscuity affects no one but me and my partners. So if you’ll excuse me, King’s Landing, I’m going to go out on a date tonight. And none of you are invited._ ”

 

~

 

Margaery switches off the camera, and breathes a sigh of relief. There. The truth is out now, and if no one believes her, so be it. She knows who she is. She knows who she isn’t. And that’s all that matters.

As she opens the door to her room, intending to go downstairs and meet Sansa waiting outside in her car, ready for their date, she bumps into someone. Stepping back in surprise, she sees it’s Loras, with a stricken look on his face.

“Margaery. I was just coming to talk to you.”

“Oh?” Margaery says, perplexed.

“I caught the show. I mean – I didn’t actually think you were going to get it on with Sansa, or I wouldn’t have watched it, because gross. But I saw what you said.”

“… And?” Margaery asks, feeling apprehensive.

“And I’m so sorry. I never meant for you to go through all that when you pretended to sleep with Renly. He feels the same, he texted and said he’s going to come over later to apologise.”

Margaery sighs, shaking her head. “No, listen – if there’s one thing I don’t regret, it’s that. The rest of it was stupid, I shouldn’t have done it more than once. But Renly and you – I know what it feels like. I didn’t want either of you to keep going through that.”

Loras gives her a small smile, something mischievous in his look. “So, am I to take it that Sansa’s your date, then?”

Margaery laughs. “Maybe. I think I said it was no one’s business, though. You’ll have to wait and see.”

“Whatever you say, little sister,” Loras says, pulling her in for a brief hug.

Margaery allows it, but quickly extracts herself and makes her excuses – to which Loras grins and suggestively raises his eyebrows. He’s almost certainly seen Sansa waiting outside. Margaery swats him anyway.

Outside, Sansa’s waiting, standing against her car with a nervous look on her face. Margaery smiles in greeting, and the anxious look abates a little.

“So? It went well?” Sansa’s greeting shows that her worry has clearly been eating away at her.

“It went fine. I don’t know if anyone believed me. But I don’t care.”

“No?”

“No,” Margaery says, putting a hand up on the car behind Sansa, who smiles down at her, the ridiculousness of the position due to Margaery’s lack of height obvious. “I don’t care about anything except kissing you right now.”

“Then kiss me,” Sansa says.

And stretching up onto her toes, out in the street where anyone could see, Margaery does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Detailed content warning: Joffrey tries to kiss Margaery when she doesn't want him to, after attempting to pay her as one would a sex worker. Robb and Sansa stop Joffrey and he drives away. On the ride home with Sansa, Margaery starts to blame herself for what happened, using slut-shaming language. Sansa stops her and reveals that she herself had once dated Joffrey at the age of fourteen, and he assaulted her. Although he did not rape her, it is implied that he went further than kissing her, and Sansa too blamed herself for some time. In the end, Margaery and Sansa decide not to blame themselves for what happened and comfort one another.
> 
> I would also like to note that Margaery and Sansa are teenagers here! They are still struggling to find the right words for what happened to them, and may say some things that use the wrong terminology etc. If there are some mistakes, they are likely intentional so as to remain in character. I tried to keep things light in this fic, but with regards to homophobia, slut-shaming, and misogyny and rape culture, there are definitely some serious moments.
> 
> OH, and finally, I am white. Margaery is black and mixed race, at least in my headcanon (Zendaya would make a good facecast). I had to research natural hair for this fic for about two lines of dialogue, haha. It's a pretty interesting topic if you're unfamiliar with it. But if any black readers take issue with my portrayal of Marg, I welcome discussion and am open to criticism. It doesn't play a huge part in this particular fic? But yeah. I want to be respectful.
> 
> It's all done! Let me know what you thought. I've really enjoyed writing this. :)

**Author's Note:**

> I just couldn't resist a modern take on Margaery's reputation in AFFC/ADWD. Horrifying in canon, a little more humorous - but still hurtful, because slut-shaming is not cool - here. Let me know what you think!
> 
> [My Tumblr.](https://gallantrejoinder.tumblr.com/)


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